


Can You Just Stop Dying?

by My_Alter_Ego



Category: White Collar
Genre: Career Change, Dying for One's Art, Meta, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-26
Updated: 2016-01-30
Packaged: 2018-05-16 10:49:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5825626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Alter_Ego/pseuds/My_Alter_Ego
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It takes a while for them to get there, but Peter and Neal, with Elizabeth's help, finally forge a bond. Peter, however, is in for an unexpected surprise.<br/>Takes place at the end of Season 6.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

      About two years into Neal’s tenure of anklet and handler, Peter had an epiphany, and it fell on him like the proverbial ton of bricks. Working so closely with the handsome, dark-haired young man with the startlingly clear blue eyes had taken its toll and had worn him down. Straight arrow, sports-loving, beer drinking, happily married, and heterosexual Peter Burke finally acknowledged that he was smitten and hopelessly attracted to this man whom he rubbed elbows with on a daily basis. Poor Peter could not understand how it had all happened.

     Okay—Peter was doggedly logical and he could figure this out. It was no different from the riddles and puzzles that he liked so much. Peter knew the who, the what, and the where of this thing, but he didn’t know the why. On introspection, he admitted that his current life had everything that he had ever desired—a respectable job, a loving wife, and good health. So, why this sudden inexplicable yearning? Then he hit on it. Neal provided the alluring potential of challenge coupled with the heady promise of diving headfirst into the unknown. Add to that, a devastatingly handsome face, a chiseled, hard body, an uncanny intelligence, and a disarming wit—well it was the whole package, and it was exhilarating to imagine a “what if.”

     Besides being logical, Peter Burke was also pragmatic, so he would never allow himself to visualize ever acting on this self-serving, hedonistic impulse. He would simply have to “cowboy up” and accept that there would be no “what ifs” in his life. However, analyzing this dilemma and forming a conclusion did not help make the wanting any less. Neither did his wife.

     One evening after the couple had Neal over for a home cooked meal, El gave a deep, wistful sigh as the con man left to return home to his loft on Riverside Drive. Peter looked at his wife with a perplexed expression.

     “Hon?” he asked tentatively.

     “Peter,” El murmured softly, “do guys’ fantasies ever play like little mind movies in their heads?”

     “Huh?” Peter was at sea here, and needed a bit of clarification.

     “Neal” she qualified. “Do you ever imagine a sexy fantasy with him in your waking mind?”

     “Huh?” Peter repeated, his grunts becoming annoyingly redundant.

     “Come on, Peter, we have been married for ten years and we have that weird old married couple psychic thing down pat. I know that you are attracted to Neal in that way. So …… do you ever let your mind invent a scenario where you get to have what you want?”

     “El,” Peter tried for a scandalized tone, “You’re my wife, and I love you!”

     “Of course you do, Peter, and I love you, too. However, that doesn’t stop me from having dreams about Neal making love to me as well. And, before you deny it, I’ve seen the look in your eyes when you’re with him, and if it isn’t love on your end, then it must be raw, unvarnished lust that I’m seeing.”

     “El,” Peter vowed, “I would never cheat on you.”

     “Well,” his wife explained patiently, “it would only be cheating if it was done behind my back.”

     “So, you’re saying ………?” Again, Peter wanted more clarification.

     “Yeah, I’m just saying ………,” and El left the tantalizing phrase dangle.

     Peter took a breath and waded into a dangerous surf fraught with riptides.

     “El, even if we’re on the same page, I’m not sure that Neal would be on board. And, given the off chance that he would be interested in that kind of relationship, I could not let it play out because that whole ball of wax is a minefield for him as well as for us. Since I am responsible for him and literally hold the reins of his freedom, any actions like that could be misconstrued as coercion and an abuse of my authority over him. My career would be over and, most likely, Neal would be returned to prison.”

     El sighed again. “I know that you’re right about that, Peter, but a person can dream.”

     Peter breathed a little easier after this thing was out in the open between himself and his wife, but of course, the yearning was still there. Now that it had been laid bare in the light, well …… Peter felt more than a bit unsettled. If El had picked up on the subliminal signals, maybe others at work would, too. Being Peter, when he felt emotionally exposed, he handled things all wrong, becoming more aloof and rigid around his CI as a means of self-defense. Neal appeared baffled by the change in attitude, but never asked Peter for an explanation. Peter was thankful for that small mercy because he really did not know what excuse that he could offer that would sound the least bit plausible, and, worst-case scenario, Neal might see right through him.

~~~~~~~~~~

     Time did pass, as it always does, and the end of Neal’s parole on the anklet was looming in the not too distant future. Peter really wanted to ask Neal about his plans, but refrained from pushing too hard to find out. If Neal wanted to share his intentions, Peter would be all ears. However, his CI never mentioned if he was thinking about taking the Feds up on their offer of a position as a paid consultant. Maybe Peter wasn’t privy to other proposals that had come his way. Peter didn’t know if Neal would be staying in June’s loft, or even in New York City, after next month.

     When the momentous day came and went, Peter felt adrift because Neal simply disappeared after that thick, black, neoprene cuff was snipped from his ankle for the last time. After a few weeks, the occasional postcard was slid through Peter’s home mail slot from exotic places around the world—The Great Wall of China and Hong Kong in Asia, Sydney and Fiji in the South Pacific, London, Paris, and Positano in Europe, and, of course, during carnival season, Rio in the Southern hemisphere. There were never any real messages on these colorful little pieces of a grasshopper’s itinerary—just an occasional smiley face or a simple “Neal.” Most likely, by the time that they reached Peter and El’s door, the former con man was probably already on his way to his next destination.

     Then, as abruptly as he had departed, Neal was suddenly back home and knocking on the Burke’s door bearing esoteric little gifts. Even Satchmo became a recipient of Neal’s largesse, and was now sporting a leather collar painted with native characters done by the aborigines in the Australian Outback.

     Neal looked as handsome as ever, with a little longer, more careless hairstyle and an overall contented and relaxed demeanor. He talked at length about his travels, which seemed to have been a solitary sabbatical, and the evening sped by too quickly. Peter did find out that the wayward wanderer had returned to June’s mansion, and that it was where he would call home right now. But Peter wanted to know what was going to happen after “right now.”

     When the door was closed after Neal’s departure, El cautioned her husband, “Just give him some space, Honey, to figure out what he wants.”

     So, that’s what Peter did, and apparently, Neal respected that distance and did not suddenly show up at the Burkes’ door unannounced in the weeks that followed. There weren’t even any texts or phone calls, and Peter was hurt. They had parted on the best of terms, so what was the problem? El watched her husband try to mask his disappointment by a blasé attitude, but his performance was an artificial charade to his wife who knew him so well.

     “Have _you_ tried reaching out to _him_ , Peter?” she asked one evening.

     There was no need for El to qualify who this “him” was.

     “El, I think that he’s made it obvious that he no longer wants any kind of relationship with me. Really, why would he? For four years, he had to endure my presence in his life; he was under my thumb 24/7, and that bred a lot of resentment, which he certainly made me aware of on many occasions. Now he is a free man, so why would he want to put up with more of the same? He probably considers that period in his life as something that he would like to forget—me included. And even if I did connect with him, there is no guarantee that he will not take off again. There’s nothing holding him back now.”

     “Oh, Honey,” El said with a sad, knowing face, “sometimes things are not always what they seem to be.”

     As is often the case, occasionally the weaker sex has to do the heavy lifting. Thus, it was Elizabeth who called Neal and arranged a luncheon date. He was waiting for her at the trendy bistro in Manhattan, looking so devastatingly handsome in a soft black turtleneck and tight grey slacks that emphasized a trim waist and amazing butt. His smile, when he spied her, looked genuinely fond, not at all like the artificial one that she had seen so often in the past.

     “Elizabeth, it’s so good to see you,” he said softly as he pulled out her chair.

     Elizabeth certainly felt the same way, and it was so easy to fall back into comfortable small talk as they ordered and awaited their meal. They discussed Elizabeth’s business at length, but then the intrepid woman took the bull by the horns.

     “So, Neal, anyone new in your life?”

     She was not prepared for his affirmative answer.

     “Actually, there is,” he said, as he pulled up a picture on his phone.

     El found herself gazing at the most beautiful chocolate Labrador Retriever that she had ever seen. His coat glistened and his eyes were wise and soulful as he stared obligingly into the camera as if he were posing. Neal explained that “Roger” had been rescued from a shelter by Cindy, June’s granddaughter. Unfortunately, Cindy’s building forbade pets on the premises, so Roger was dumped on Grandma June’s doorstep with a fervent plea that she please give this displaced creature a “forever” home. June was certainly agreeable, but not so her imperious little pug, Bugsy, who felt his right to the throne was in jeopardy. The tiny twit with an attitude bullied the perceived interloper unmercifully. The gentle Lab endured, but eventually sought refuge in Neal’s loft. It was love at first sight, and the big dog adoringly latched onto Neal.

     El actually breathed a sigh of relief upon hearing the story. Peter’s fear that Neal would impulsively disappear might be groundless. Neal seemed to be putting down roots and accepting the responsibility for something in his life. She just could not see him abandoning Roger if wanderlust suddenly overwhelmed the former con man. So, now it was on to step two in her plan.

     “Neal, Peter really has missed you,” she began.

     Neal smiled wryly. “Yeah, like a migraine headache that finally goes away.”

     “Not true,” El argued. “He’s confused as to why you have been so distant since you came home. He thought that you two had developed a bond over the years.”

     Neal took time to choose his words carefully. “Elizabeth, I’m not sure how to categorize any relationship that Peter and I shared. He was chained to me as tightly as I was chained to him for four years, and that affected both of us, and not always in a good way.

     At first, I thought that we were developing a comfortable, trusting connection, but then Peter suddenly put the brakes on and retreated behind that stern, unyielding lawman demeanor that he favors. So, perhaps I was imagining what I wanted to be true rather than what the reality was. As time went on, I know that I put him through hell. We disappointed each other time and time again. I think that I singlehandedly carved an ulcer into Peter’s stomach lining, if the amount of antacids that he consumed were any indication.”

     Neal suddenly looked a bit wistful. “Not that all of that is any excuse; it’s just why I am hesitant to bother him anymore.”

     El mentally rolled her eyes. How could two really smart men be so obtuse?

     “Neal,” she began tentatively, “I doubt that Peter would perceive any interest on your part to be a nuisance. Maybe the relationship between you and Peter would take on a whole other dimension now that you are on a more equal footing. You could just be friends without all the baggage.” _(Actually, maybe friends with benefits, she thought to herself.)_

    When Neal just shrugged noncommittally, she continued, “If Peter made the first overture, would you be open to hearing what he has to say?”

    “Of course, Elizabeth,” Neal responded amicably. “Obviously this means something to you, so how could I ever say no to anything that you ask of me?”

     Elizabeth related her conversation to Peter that night over dinner.

     “I don’t know, El,” Peter equivocated. “Getting a dog isn’t really a closer for me. I still worry what he is up to with his time. He has been back for a month, isn’t working at any job that we know of, and yet continues to enjoy a pretty comfortable lifestyle. What if he’s back to pulling cons with Mozzie?”

     El sighed. She seemed to be doing that a lot lately.

     “Peter, Sweetie, why don’t you just ask him? Don’t interrogate him; just show a friendly interest. Pretend that you are talking to Diana or Jones. And maybe ………,” El hesitated for a beat, “maybe you should go out on a limb and explain why you acted the way that you did when he was your CI. If he’s not interested, at least then you will know. Really, Hon, things can’t be anymore up in the air than they already are.”

     So, Peter, the dutiful husband, did just as El suggested, spontaneously knocking on Neal’s door one Saturday evening a week later with a hopeful smile and a bottle of wine that had put a dent in his take-home pay. Neal, clad in soft jeans and a Henley, didn’t look as if he was dressed to go out when he opened the door. He was not alone, however. A fine-looking brown Lab with alert eyes stood by Neal’s legs, head cocked to the side as if trying to determine if this newly arrived person was friend or foe. When Neal invited Peter inside, the creature wagged his tail happily at the addition of an apparently welcomed guest before retreating to a dog bed nestled in a corner of the loft. However, his keen attention never wavered from his master, and he followed Neal’s every move with his eyes.

     Neal, ever gracious, opened the bottle of wine, and snagged a bottle of imported beer that he just happened to have on ice in his refrigerator. The two men eventually settled on the couch under Roger’s watchful scrutiny.

     “So,” Peter began cautiously, “what have you been doing with yourself now that you are back?” Noting a painting in progress on the easel, he ventured, “I see that you are painting again. Is that perhaps a commission for some art gallery?”

     “No, Peter, it’s just something that I’m doing for my own enjoyment. I don’t see myself becoming the latest flavor of the month in the fickle art world. An artist’s creations usually do not earn any merit by the trend-setting public until the creator is dead and buried.”

     “Well,” Peter clumsily clamored on when the silence stretched out, “how are you keeping yourself in groceries?”

     Neal’s eyes narrowed for just a moment, but then, with an effort, he dialed back his response. “If you are asking, in a round-about way, if I have a legitimate job, let me put your mind at ease. I have some irons in the fire right now that may pan out, and they are all aboveboard and legal.”

     “Are these job offers here in New York?” Peter asked.

     “Well, if I decide to take the opportunities, there may be some temporary re-locating from time to time,” Neal said evasively.

     Peter then nodded his head toward the Lab. “What would you do with Roger, Neal? You couldn’t just abandon him.”

     Neal smiled as he looked toward the dog who had alertly raised his head at the mention of his name. “Well, Roger may be neutered, but he would just have to grow a new pair so that he could stand up to the ‘Little Fuhrer’ that lives downstairs.”

     Peter then plodded on like a bull in a china shop. “Care to tell me about these ‘irons in the fire,’ Neal?”

     Neal huffed out a breath, and then closed his eyes as if he were counting to ten. “Are you asking as a curious friend or a suspicious FBI agent, Peter?”

     “Neal, cut me some slack, here, Buddy. I used to know everything about you, and now I suppose that I am going through withdrawal. I’m just interested as a person who once was close to you.”

     Neal seemed to be weighing the merits of that statement. “Okay, Peter, since inquiring minds want to know, I’ll tell you. A few directors have expressed an interest in having me be in their movies. The parts haven’t all been cast yet, so it’s not a done deal.”

     Peter was flummoxed and had a million questions. “They want you to act in movies!? I mean, why did they approach _you_? How do they even know if you can act, Neal? Did you audition for the parts or something?”

     “Essentially, Peter, I already know a few of these producers and directors from years back when I worked in the industry,” Neal answered.

     “You what?” Peter could not believe what he was hearing.

     Neal patiently enlightened his former partner. “When I was young and had first come to New York, it was difficult to support myself. I actually tended bar for the first year, but I hardly made enough money to keep myself in food much less painting supplies. So, I auditioned for a few soap operas and was fortunate to snag a gig on a couple of them. After those ended, there were a few other television shows and bit parts in movies that followed, but then I  ….. well, let’s just say that I got involved in other endeavors.”

     “Why didn’t we know about this, Neal?” Peter wanted to know. “The FBI did due diligence trying to find background information on you during your heyday.”

     “I suppose that the FBI didn’t watch daytime serials. It’s called hiding in plain sight, Peter. You guys might have thought that you had unearthed all of my aliases, but you weren’t even close. Try looking up ‘Matt Bomer’ sometime on the Internet Movie Database.”

     “Wow!” Peter was once again resorting to monosyllabic responses. _Neal the actor_ —maybe it was not as farfetched as it seemed. Being a con man entailed selling a performance that had to be perfect in order to pull it off, and Neal was really, really good when the FBI utilized his talents in an undercover sting.

     “So, what are the names of these upcoming movies, Neal?”

     “Look, Peter, I’d rather not jinx anything by talking about it. Can we discuss another topic?”

     “Sure, sure,” Peter agreed. Now it was probably time for him to come clean with his own confession.

     “Neal, El said that after having lunch with you she realized that there may have been some misconceptions on both our parts. Well, maybe that is not entirely true. I think the fault was mine because I wasn’t totally honest with you.”

     Now it was Neal who was intrigued—Peter admitting to dishonesty and deceit—that was a first.

     “Do tell, Peter; this has got to be good and one for the books,” Neal teased.

     Peter grimaced and then decided to just plunge in. “About halfway through our four years together, I discovered that I was getting too close to you, and that scared me.”

     “Were you afraid that I would corrupt you, Peter?” Neal interrupted.

     “Well, maybe I did start seeing gray areas,” Peter admitted, “but that wasn’t the real dilemma. The true problem was my heart. I was getting emotionally attached, and that ushered in so many other issues, as well. So, in self-defense, I pulled away so I wouldn’t be tempted.”

     Now Neal was really confused. “Tempted to do what, Peter—let me get away with breaking the law, running a con for my own gain, taking off for parts unknown—what exactly?”

     This was so hard for Peter. Suddenly, he let his hand slide across the expanse of sofa fabric so that his fingers ghosted over Neal’s, feather-light and fleeting. The con man’s eyes widened in surprise as the reality set in.

     “Are you actually hitting on me, Peter, ………. like right now?” he asked softly.

     Peter returned his hand to his lap, raised his eyebrows and shrugged his shoulders before replying, “Yeah, Neal, I guess that I am.”

     “Huh,” Neal had now also adopted that irritating penchant for employing one-syllable responses.

     He recovered quickly, however, and remarked, “I never thought that you would do something like this to Elizabeth, Peter. You shouldn’t put your marriage to a wonderful woman in jeopardy.”

     “There is no risk to my marriage, Neal. El was my advance scout who volunteered to get the lay of the land before sending me out on this mission.”

     Apparently, that revelation stopped Neal in his tracks, and he became very still. Suddenly, Peter found that he just couldn’t abide the strange, uncomfortable silence in the room, so he stood up abruptly and addressed his former CI, who continued to look gob smacked.

     “Listen, Neal, there’s no pressure here if you’re not interested. El and I will certainly understand and respect your decision. We’ll never speak of it again, but please, even though it may be awkward at first until we put it behind us, don’t shut us out of your life entirely.”

     The unnatural quiet continued, so Peter left Neal, still seated on the sofa, gazing out upon his fantastic view of the New York skyline. The older man wondered if Neal were really seeing it. He had not moved a muscle, so it was a polite Roger who graciously rose from his place on the floor to escort Peter to the door. Peter wondered, as he closed that door softly, if he was also shutting out any future relationship with his friend.


	2. Chapter 2

     Peter dutifully related everything to El that had transpired when he visited Neal. She was sympathetic to Peter’s discomfort, but optimistic, nonetheless.

     “Just give Neal time to process this,” she advised. “Don’t jump to any conclusions until we hear something from him, one way, or the other.”

     In the meantime, Peter used his waiting time wisely, doing dogged, in-depth research on Matt Bomer. He watched all the You Tubes that were available of “Ben Reade” on the daytime soap _“Guiding Light.”_ Neal’s, or rather Matt’s role, was a recurring one that spanned the years from 2001 to 2003. Peter found himself gazing at a very young man, barely out of his teens, pulling off the convoluted angst of a tragic figure destined to die because of his insane depravity. Although still handsome, Neal’s face had yet to attain those chiseled, drop-dead gorgeous planes of mature adulthood. He was adorable, nonetheless, just as he was in a short-lived television series called _“Tru Calling,”_ in which he played Eliza Dushku’s doomed boyfriend. His character died in that story, as well.

      Peter began to see a pattern. Neal died once more amidst blood and gore in a movie version of _“Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The Beginning,”_ and again when he played a spy in a quirky little television science fiction series called _“Chuck.”_ He did manage to survive, however, in a series called _“Traveler”_ for eight episodes before it was cancelled. Peter thought that it was comically prophetic that Neal’s character played a young college graduate being hunted by the FBI.

     As Peter’s research on “Matt Bomer” continued, he found that his former CI had provided his alter ego with an impressive background. According to the listed bio, he had been born in a small town in Missouri, but had grown up in a Texas suburb near Houston. He then attended a prestigious thespian college in Pittsburgh. As he surfed the Net, Peter also managed to stumble onto some interesting little snippets of innuendo alluding to a possible relationship with an unspecified male, but nothing was ever followed up regarding the mystery. Now that was an interesting facet of Neal’s personality that Peter had not expected. Could it be that Neal was not as heterosexually white bread as he seemed?

     Then Peter being Peter, the glass half-empty kind of guy, expressed yet another worry to El.

     “Hon, Neal’s an actor—a chameleon—who gets into the head of a character and makes you believe in that portrayal. What if he is merely acting a part now, and has been for years? What if he claims that he wants a relationship with us, but he is really just donning a persona? How can we be sure who the real Neal is?”

     “Peter,” El cautioned, “just stop! You are overthinking this. I know that you are trying to protect us from getting hurt, but sometimes you just have to take a leap of faith and follow your heart.”

     Peter was subjected to even more nerve-racking apprehension when Neal texted both him and Elizabeth on Thursday asking if they would be free on Friday evening. He invited them to be his dinner guests at his loft. He would be cooking, he cautioned Peter with his meat and potatoes palate, so please try to keep an open mind about the food.

     Early the next evening, Peter and El arrived at Neal’s door. El was beaming, but Peter’s smile looked like rictus on a corpse. Neal did a double take at his former partner, but refrained from commenting. Roger eased a bit of Peter’s discomfort by greeting the FBI agent like an old friend who had returned specifically to see him. El was enchanted by the beautiful animal, and Roger reveled in her attention. His expression was one of pure rapture as she scratched behind his ears.

     Before they all sat down to dinner, Peter excused himself to use the bathroom. A heavy weight descended onto his chest as he spied what appeared to be a packed suitcase in the back hall, and Neal’s toiletry items partially arranged in a dopp kit on the bathroom counter. Peter suspected that he had confronted Neal with something that the man wasn’t ready to accept, and reverting to type, he was running away from what he didn’t want to face. Suddenly, Peter was very depressed, causing him to assume the role of an actor as well, putting on a brave face in a time of disappointment and hopelessness.

     As soon as Peter returned, dinner was ready, and Neal served the delicate Dover sole topped with shrimp and crabmeat drizzled with a tarragon-infused cream sauce. He had paired it with risotto, and the dry Riesling wine drew it all together. Even Peter had to admit that, as far as gourmet food went, it was tasty. Over cognacs served in the sitting area, it was Neal who decided to approach the elephant in the room.

     “I’ve thought about what you said the other day, Peter, but I need to know that Elizabeth is just as committed as you are,” he began the discussion.

     El smiled softly, “I think, Neal, that we would all be good together, but, ultimately that is your decision to make. Peter and I won’t stop loving you if being part of each other’s lives in that way makes you uncomfortable.”

     “But have you thought this through to where it could lead?” Neal pushed. “Peter could lose a lot of respect at the Bureau, maybe even any chance for promotion. Both of you may be ridiculed and shunned by friends and acquaintances. El, you could lose potential clients. Not everyone in society is ready to be open-minded and liberal. Your life could become a hell because of me.”

     Peter wondered when a rash and impulsive Neal had become the cautious voice of reason. Why did he feel the need to proffer warnings, or were they not warnings, but excuses instead? With visions of Neal’s travel preparations fresh in his mind, Peter finally spoke up.

     “Neal, don’t sell yourself short. You are worth facing any criticism, slurs, or whatever else that intolerant individuals may throw at us. We do not want concern for our reputations to push you away so that you will leave. We love you, and we are not going to hide that fact like something that is shameful. Now please, just answer me truthfully, do you think that you could love us back?”

     Neal looked his former keeper in the eye as he answered, “That happened a long time ago, Peter. It would be almost impossible to change how I have felt for years.”

     All at once, the tension prevalent in the room began to dissipate. Roger, like most canines, had sensed an impending heaviness in the air around him from the very beginning, but now his tail began to wag happily when it appeared that the storm clouds had passed. He wasn’t sure why, but he now knew that his human and his human’s guests were joyful, so he was contented, too.

     “So, where do we go from here?” El asked pragmatically.

     “Actually, any plans for the future of an “us’ have to be delayed on my end,” Neal explained. “I am taking the red-eye to California later tonight. It’s strictly business,” he assured Peter, “but I may be gone for awhile.”

     “Does this have anything to do with those job offers?” Peter wanted to know.

     Neal smiled shyly, “Yeah. One of them came through called _“In Time,”_ a sci-fi flick shooting in Los Angeles that stars Justin Timberlake. My part really isn’t that big, so I should be able to nail my takes and come back in maybe two to three weeks.”

     “What about Roger?” El wanted to know.

     Neal raised an eyebrow at his four-footed roommate and remarked, “Old Roger is just going to have to man up and learn to give as good as he gets from Bugsy.”

     “Oh, poor baby,” El cooed. “We could take care of him for you,” she then volunteered. “Satchmo is really laid back and social around other dogs. They would probably enjoy each other’s company.”

     “Peter?” Neal queried.

     The FBI agent was so relieved that Neal was not intentionally leaving town because of them, he would have agreed to just about anything at that moment. But he did have one question.

     “Tell me Neal, by any chance, do you die in this movie?”

     Neal looked at him quizzically after hearing this non sequitur, “Actually, I do, Peter. I commit suicide. How did you know?”

     “Oh, just a bit of inductive reasoning and a gut feeling,” was the nonsensical answer.

~~~~~~~~~

     So, Roger left with Peter and El under protest, whining nervously the whole way. Who was going to take care of his human if Roger wasn’t there to watch his back? Thankfully, the brown Lab met a friend who helped him bear his anxiety with some semblance of dignity. Satchmo was a comforting presence, but each time that Roger heard a key in the Burkes’ front door, he looked up hopefully. When it wasn’t Neal who entered, he just looked pitifully sad.

     “I know, Buddy, we all miss him, but he promised to be back soon, and we all just have to hang in there until then,” Peter told him. Actually, Peter repeated those same words to himself night after night. El, however, was serene; there was never any doubt in her mind.

     One quiet evening a month later, Roger’s ears pricked up before anyone heard a thing. His tail wagged tentatively at first, but then the tempo increased, and he darted to the door whimpering and crying. Of course, Satchmo was right there at his shoulder to support his pal, no matter what was causing this disturbance in Roger’s force field. Peter and El looked hopefully at one another, and were actually pulling the door open as Neal’s upraised fist was about to knock.

     It was a momentous homecoming for all, and suddenly, everything was aligned and right again in everyone’s world. Sitting on the couch between Peter and El, Neal said that the shooting went well and the whole project had wrapped that day. He declined any leftovers from the Burkes’ refrigerator, saying that he had eaten on the plane.

     “Are you tired from your flight, Sweetie?” El asked solicitously. “Do you want to go upstairs and take a nap?”

     “Nope!” Neal answered succinctly. “Slept most of the way home on the plane.”

     “Well, would you like to go upstairs anyway, maybe to freshen up after sitting for so long?” El had a sly smile in place.

     Neal matched her expression. “Actually, a hot shower seems like a great idea right now.”

     Peter was watching this back and forth little interplay, heavy with innuendo, in open-mouthed astonishment. How did his wife just effortlessly slide into a seduction when he would have been fumbling for the right words after “I missed you?” However, Peter was not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. This is what he had been wanting for years, and it was almost surreal that it was finally going to come true.

     El was busy turning down the sheets and comforter on their king-sized bed and lighting scented candles when Neal emerged from the shower with a towel wrapped around his hips. His thick, dark hair was still damp and curling slightly around his ears and at the nape of his neck. Peter’s mouth suddenly went very dry as he gazed at Neal’s sculpted chest and flat, ripped abdomen. Now it was Peter who was hesitantly shy.

     Neal seemed to sense Peter’s discomfort and slowly placed his arms around the tense man’s torso, drawing him into a loose embrace. He then softly placed his open lips on Peter’s for a brief, alluring kiss before whispering tauntingly in his ear, “You just have to cowboy up, Buddy, and rise to the occasion.”

     Peter heard El giggle, and suddenly both she and Neal were slowly divesting Peter of one article of clothing after the other. Neal then took his time stripping away El’s clothes, all the while planting tantalizing little kisses to her neck and the swell of her breast. Somewhere in the process, Neal’s towel was taken away and his cock was revealed, standing rigid against his abdomen. Peter thought that he was staring at a Greek god, all beauty and grace wrapped in muscle and sinew.

     Like an enthralled voyeur, he watched this exquisite man carefully lay El onto her back and elicit sensuous moans from her as he worked his magic with talented hands and tongue. When Peter saw Neal slide his head down between El’s thighs, he realized that his own cock was aroused and dripping. He wanted—no, he needed—to be a part of this. So, while Neal was preoccupied, Peter allowed his fingers to stroke the fringe of hair at the back of Neal’s neck. Then his sweaty palm followed the contour of the young man’s spine to the small of his back, the skin there warm and soft. He languidly massaged the curvature and smiled as Neal arched back into his hand. Taking a steadying breath, Peter finally allowed a hand to drop lower so that tentative fingers could explore those glorious buttocks.

     It wasn’t long before Elizabeth surged upward and went rigid. Her cries of orgasm were loud, and Neal cradled her through the throes of passion. Afterwards, he turned to Peter and placed a hungry, deep kiss upon his lips. Peter could taste El and it heightened his excitement. He began grabbing onto Neal any place that his hands could reach, kneading and caressing. The young man smiled through the fumbling, and then positioned himself at Peter’s groin to take a turgid, pulsing cock into his hungry mouth. He licked, sucked, and teased until Peter’s passion exploded, and his cries rivaled that of his wife’s a few minutes before. Afterwards, Peter found himself spent and trying to catch his breath, so it was a recovered Elizabeth who brought Neal release.

     The musky scent of sex filled the small bedroom, as three people tried to find their sea legs once again. Despite Neal’s insistence that he had slept on the plane, jet lag claimed him soon after, and his muscles relaxed into a deep, satiated sleep. Elizabeth molded herself against his chest, while Peter bracketed Neal’s other side, a possessive arm thrown across the two people that he loved in this world.

     While an encore of their performance would have been nice, morning brought a mad scramble for three people in the tiny bathroom so that Peter and El could get ready for work and Neal could—well, Neal could get to wherever he wanted to be that day. After a prerequisite cup of coffee, Neal collected Roger and set off for his loft, promising to contact the Burkes later in the day. Unfortunately, an FBI sting kept Peter in the surveillance van until well after midnight, so any plans to resume the new courtship had to be put on hold.

     Finally the weekend came, and many more thereafter, with tantalizing sex unfolding in the small bedroom. Roger always accompanied Neal on these sleepovers, and was content to snuggle up with Satchmo on the dog bed as Neal and his humans made their way up the stairs for the night. All was copacetic for the canine. His master was happy, thus so was the loyal and devoted dog.

     Peter was indeed blissful. The touching, teasing, and the release that followed were all that he could have hoped for, so he felt self-consciously greedy that he hungered to take things to the next level. He certainly knew the mechanics that he wanted to explore, but was hesitant simply to push ahead with his intentions in the midst of lovemaking. What if Neal didn’t want things to progress any further than they had?  

     Elizabeth, as usual, had the foresight to purchase lube and condoms, and, as before, she was the one to encourage her husband to ask for what he wanted.

     “The worst that will happen is that he’ll decline,” she said quite sensibly. “Just ask him.”

     That weekend, with the soft illumination in the room partially hiding the worry on Peter’s face, the hesitant man mumbled the words and held his breath. He could just about make out Neal’s soft smile in the semi-darkness, but he had no troubling hearing the words, “I thought you’d never ask, Peter.”

     Peter was a quick study, and with Neal’s encouragement, he learned to stretch that tight ring of muscle slowly before gradually introducing fingers that probed and titillated his lover’s core. When Peter eventually replaced his fingers with his cock, Neal would arch up and moan, and the older man knew that he was giving as much pleasure as he was receiving. They learned each other’s hot spots and rhythms, and, when the two were joined, it was as if they were one entity that was now somehow complete. Peter also learned other things about himself. He found that he had a few kinks—one, in particular, regarding handcuffs. To his surprise, Neal was okay with that as well.

     Peter began lobbying for Neal to move in with them. He wanted Neal with him every night, but, to his dismay, Neal balked at that request.

     “Peter, you can’t put your career at risk. At times, Jones or Diana might stop by, and although you may think that you can count on their discretion, in my experience, things have a way of leaking out.”

     Peter tried arguing, “Neal, I’m not ashamed of you or the life that we are leading. I don’t care if anyone thinks that we are lovers because that’s exactly what we are.”

     Neal argued right back. “Did you ever consider that the people who hold the reins of power in the upper echelons of the FBI and the DOJ may question when our relationship began? They might suspect that it began long ago when I was your CI. Then everything that we accomplished during my time working for you would be scrutinized with a magnifying glass. You covered for me so many times back then. If they got a hint of that now, best-case scenario, you would be disciplined and subjected to ridicule. Worst-case scenario, you would lose your job. Why tempt fate, Peter?”

     When Neal left to walk the dogs, El discussed the conversation that she had overheard.

     “He’s right, you know, and he’s just trying to protect you,” she reasoned.

     “When did this thing get so turned around that he is now trying to protect me?” Peter groused. “El, we have never been afraid of flying in the face of adversity, and I don’t want to start now.”

     “Baby steps, Hon,” she advised.

~~~~~~~~~~

     Neal’s predictions about what could happen actually played out just one month later on a Friday night. Neal had headed over to the Burkes’ house that evening with Chinese carryout and Roger in tow. The air in the townhome was rife with the aromas of sweet and sour and fried rice, but they hadn’t yet settled down to the meal when someone rang the bell. The two dogs in residence took their sentry jobs seriously, trotting over to check out this unknown caller. When Peter opened the door, Jones stood there with a file in his hand.

     “Peter, we need your sign-off on this so that we can close the Mortensen case,” he claimed, suddenly becoming aware that there were now two dogs standing before him, tails wagging and giving him doggie grins.

     “Peter, I didn’t realize that you got another dog. Who’s this handsome new guy?” he asked as he knelt down to ruffle Roger’s thick coat.

     “His name is Roger and he’s my dog,” Neal said as he rounded the corner, giving Jones an inscrutable smile.

     “Caffrey,” Jones said in puzzlement, “what are you doing here?”

     “Preparing to have Chinese carryout with Peter and Elizabeth,” Neal answered truthfully. “If I had known that you were coming, I would have taken your order, as well, so that you could join us.”

     Jones got the hint, got his paper signed, and hightailed it out the door to his car. Neal just lifted a sardonic eyebrow.

     “Don’t even _think_ about leaving here, Neal!” Peter said emphatically.

~~~~~~~~~~

     So, it wasn’t really surprising when Jones knocked on Peter’s office door the following Monday. Closing the door behind him, the junior agent began his speech very carefully, the words obviously having been rehearsed many times before they left his mouth.

     “I didn’t realize that Caffrey was still hanging around town. I thought that he would be long gone from the scene by now—off pulling the next con or casing the next museum. Has he managed to get himself in a bind and has approached you, Peter, because he wants your help yet again? In my experience of watching him operate for four years, Caffrey always has his own agenda—something that he wants. Do you think it’s wise to allow him to approach you in your private home?”

     Peter took a breath and reined in all the heated words that he wanted to say. He would have to deal with this honestly and firmly, while still respecting Neal’s plea for discretion.

     “I appreciate the concerns that you have expressed, Jones, I really do. However, I would have hoped that your opinion of me was a bit loftier. I am a perceptive man, Clinton, and I think that I can ferret out someone’s motives just as quickly and efficiently as any other federal agent can. I know that you will always have my back, but, this time, please do not worry on my behalf.”

     “Of course, Peter, I didn’t mean to overstep my boundaries,” Jones apologized as he backed out of the room, an embarrassed look on his face.

     If nothing else, this little exchange proved one thing. Peter had learned the art of misdirection from a master!


	3. Chapter 3

     In the months that followed, Peter was careful to keep his professional and his private life separate, and, thankfully, there did not seem to be any ominous clouds of suspicion on the horizon. To his added relief, Neal’s attention never waned, and Peter’s weekends were an anticipated joy of being enfolded within the warmth of the two loves of his life. Neal left for just one brief period to shoot an episode of a television series depicting a group of high school misfits with singing talent, but, once he returned, he told Peter of another offer that he had accepted. The FBI agent was just a bit skeptical of this new endeavor, but wisely kept his misgivings to himself.

     The former con man was now guzzling protein shakes and working out in the gym on a regular basis. Peter was certainly not going to complain as the new body sculpting emerged. He took delight in the now more defined and firm delts, pecs, and biceps, and encouraged Neal to sit astride him so that he could run his hands across this new landscape as they rocked to their erotic rhythm. He let his mind fantasize that Neal was a young male stripper that he had seduced. El had no trouble in that department.

     _“Magic Mike”_ was being shot in both Los Angeles and Tampa, Florida—far away from New York and Peter. Neal kept in touch with those at home, and it was obvious that he was thrilled to be sharing the big screen with Channing Tatum. As usual, Peter began to feel just a bit threatened and insecure.

     “Peter,” Neal said fondly after a phone exchange weeks into the shooting, “Channing has become a good friend. He’s a really cool guy, and he’s also very heterosexual, so stop worrying.”

     Peter wanted to protest that he had also thought he was staunchly heterosexual until he met Neal, but stopped himself from saying anything more embarrassing. At least Neal didn’t die in this bawdy flick; Peter had started keeping a tally of Neal’s demises.

     When the movie aired, El had insisted that Peter take her to see their lover on the wide screen. Peter contemplated putting a bag over his head, but soon realized that he was not the only male in a predominately-female audience spanning the age spectrum. He theorized that these other men were there for one of two reasons: they were either dragged to the theater by their wives/girlfriends to get some pointers, or, they were there, just as Peter was, to enjoy looking at beautifully toned male bodies stripped bare and gyrating. Peter, however, was really only interested in one particular body, and he was certainly not disappointed.

     Neal’s acting career continued. He had a small part in _“A Winter’s Tale”—_ died again. Then a stint as an engineering specialist on a basically ignored _“Space Station 76.”_ This time, he managed to stay alive to the ending when the credits rolled.

     Neal’s next project was a daunting one. He discussed it with Peter and El one evening, and could not hide his awed reaction to being asked to join a very intimidating cast of esteemed and laudable actors. Julia Roberts, Mark Ruffalo, Alfred Molina, Jim Parsons, and Jim Montello had already accepted roles in this HBO movie adapted from a play that had been on Broadway in 1985. _“The Normal Heart”_ depicted the AIDS-HIV crisis first emerging on the scene in New York City between 1981 and 1984. In the writer’s autobiographical work, Neal’s role would be that of Felix Turner, Ruffalo’s gay lover.

     “Neal,” Peter remarked, “this is really heavy stuff, about as far from _“Magic Mike”_ as you can get. Do you think that you can pull it off?”

     “Peter,” Neal tried to explain, “this is a message that needs to get out there. A whole generation of young people has no knowledge of what took place during that time period. They have no idea of the sacrifices and the struggles that doctors, activists, and just the average volunteer off the street made to heighten the awareness of an uninformed populace regarding a baffling and deadly new disease. Do you realize the sheer numbers of healthy individuals who suddenly saw their life drain away from a virus that nobody even recognized or wanted to combat?”

     Peter saw Neal’s passion and began to waver. “Neal, I appreciate your zeal, but the necessary physical transformation just scares me to death. You have to literally waste away to appear authentic in your role. I can’t believe that is healthy, even for a young man such as yourself.”

     Neal tried to reassure his lover. “I’ll have a nutritionist to guide me in the weight loss regimen, and the director insists that I have regular check-ups with a physician. Besides, Peter, the film is being shot right here in New York so you can keep an eye on me.”

     Peter knew he was losing the battle; in a last attempt to turn the tide of the war, he ventured one more half-hearted objection.

     “This Mark Ruffalo and you have some pretty intense and graphic sex scenes, Buddy, and that dude is really an attractive co-star.”

     “Mark is a professional, Peter. It’s called ‘acting,’ in case you have forgotten. Besides, Mark is happily married and doesn’t need a third wheel in his life.”

     “So was I before I met you, Neal!”

~~~~~~~~~~

     Neal embarked on the preparations for his character’s horrendously emaciated appearance after the initial first part of the story had been shot. Like every theft and forgery that he had ever committed in his past life, Neal meticulously oversaw the necessary details. He tediously measured out a bare 300 calories of intake that had to be spread over each day, and his weight began to plummet alarmingly. The usually energetic whirlwind became weak and listless, and any sex life that had once existed disappeared. El and Peter merely held his frail body tenderly at night to share a warmth that he could not sustain without any insulating body fat. By the last scene of the filming, Neal had lost forty pounds and was but a ghost of his former self. Elizabeth could not hide her tears when the studio shaved his head.

     Peter and El were gratefully relieved when the emotionally and physically draining film was finally completed, and they set about the task of nursing Neal back to some semblance of his former self. Elizabeth conferred with the nutritionist and, as instructed, slowly introduced simple carbohydrates into the young man’s diet. In time, thick eggnogs and milk shakes rounded out high calorie meals. The weight gradually re-appeared, as did a short version of Neal’s dark hair that he spiked with gel.

     “I’m kinda getting into your new look,” El enthused as she ran her fingers through the upright strands. “Somehow, on you, this is really sexy!”

     When _“The Normal Heart”_ aired for the first time on premium television, Peter and Elizabeth were avid viewers. Neal flatly refused to watch the film with them. For some reason, Neal hated watching any of his own work; he was always overly critical and would see what he perceived as flaws in his performance.

     So, it was just Peter and El who were mesmerized by his agonizingly brutal but beautiful portrayal of a man in love who was doomed to die. And it was Peter who was openly sobbing as he watched the heartbreaking ending of Felix/Neal’s life. Yeah—surprise, surprise; Neal died again.

     What was not a surprise, however, was the strong critical acclaim that the film garnered in the industry. It was ultimately nominated for many prestigious awards. The performances by Neal and Mark Ruffalo were extoled, and the story had a tremendous following. Neal had accomplished what he had set out to do, and Peter was very proud of him.

     Shortly after the HBO presentation, Diana knocked on Peter’s office door. She told her boss that she and Christie had watched a very poignant and moving movie over the weekend. Peter knew exactly what she was referring to, but he let her say what was on her mind without interrupting her.

     “Peter, imagine my shock when I found myself watching Neal Caffrey playing a leading role in a very intense and credible storyline about the AIDS epidemic. He wasn’t going by his own name; he was using the alias ‘Matt Bomer,’ but it was definitely him. Did you know about this?”

      Peter was not about to lie to deceive his very astute junior agent whom he regarded as a valued friend.

     “Yes, Diana, I did. Neal discussed the role with me before he accepted it, so, yes, I knew and was on board with it. He is using a screen name, not an alias, and I’m comfortable with that, as well.”

     Diana was no fool and could read her boss without anything being spoken. Her next words were a statement rather than a question. “So, you and Neal kept in touch after his probation ended.”

     “Yes, El and I have sustained the relationship, and we’re quite happy with the way things are.”

     Diana’s smile was fond. “I worry about you, Boss, and don’t want to see you get hurt.”

     Peter returned the smile. Even though she portrayed an exterior toughness, Peter knew that Diana had a soft underbelly. Just like Neal, she wore a mask to disguise any weaknesses that could be exploited.

     “Neal would never hurt me, Diana,” he vowed, and he suspected that she believed him because secretly she wanted to believe in happy endings, too.

     “Well, then, I’m very glad for all of you,” were her sincere words as she quietly left the room.

~~~~~~~~~~

     Not unexpectedly, _“The Normal Heart”_ won an Emmy award for best television movie that year. Neal gleaned his own accolades as well: A Critics’ Choice Award for Best Supporting Actor, and a Golden Globe Award, to name a few. His face was now highlighted on magazine covers instead of FBI wanted posters, and that fame wrenched him right back into the Bureau’s sights.

     Representatives of the Department of Justice paid Peter a visit one afternoon. They did not ask if Peter knew of his former CI’s new career; the pompous bureaucrats were more predisposed to hearing themselves pontificate. Peter listened politely to the blowhards preach, but then the tenor got threatening.

     “Perhaps we should make the film industry and the audiences who pay to see their movies, aware of just who this new screen idol really is. I would venture a guess that there would not be a lot of support for an ex-con, even if he has a pretty face and a new name.”

     Peter’s protective instincts went into overdrive.

     “I wasn’t aware, _gentleman_ , that the Bureau was willing to sink to perpetrating a smear campaign against a now law-abiding citizen. Neal Caffrey did his time and he completed his parole. If he is now choosing to employ a screen name, that is not a crime. Film studios have been handing out new handles since before the time of John Wayne. He is working at a legitimate job, not committing any acts against the law, and he is paying his taxes. Apparently, he is the latest darling of the press corps, so perhaps you might want to spin the narrative, if you insist on invading his life. Let the _prestigious_ FBI take credit and pat themselves on the back for rehabilitating a former offender and setting him on the straight and narrow path. I see that as a win-win for everybody.”

     The stuffed shirts cast a jaundiced eye in his direction and left without a backwards glance. As time went on without any malicious follow-up, Peter assumed that his message had gotten through to them. He didn’t even bother telling Neal of the threats. His lover had been away for a while down in South Carolina and Savannah filming the sequel to _“Magic Mike”_ with his posse of cohorts from that first film. He came home for the occasional weekend, now buff and healthy once again, and Bureau gossip was the very last thing on anybody’s mind. Peter and Elizabeth eventually went to see _“Magic Mike XXL,”_ an uncomplicated fun romp in which Neal got to showcase his fantastic tenor voice.

     Even though Neal’s life was now fun and exciting, Peter’s day-to-day existence took on a feeling of drudgery. With Hughes’ forced retirement, it became a never-ending revolving door of new superiors. Each would be ushered in with great fanfare, turning things upside down as they tried to establish their unique niche. Within months, however, the new emperor ensconced on the 21st floor of the Federal Building would be precipitously replaced with yet another new face. There was an unsettling lack of continuity, and the number of transfer requests escalated. Jones had departed for a different department, and Peter felt that Diana was only holding on because of him.

     A bolt out of the blue occurred one day heralded by a call from Bruce Hawes, an old Bureau friend based in Washington, DC. The two shot the breeze for a while, and, apparently, Peter’s discontent leached into the conversation.

     “Well, my friend, that is kind of a lead-in to the reason for this call,” Hawes said. “How would you feel about playing in a new sandbox, Peter? There’s a position down here in my neck of the woods that has your name practically on the door.”

     The proposal sounded intriguing, but Peter said that he had to discuss it with his wife. El knew how disgruntled her husband had been over the last year, so she was definitely sympathetic.

     “Peter, there are so many wonderful galleries in Washington as well as in Georgetown. I have references in that field, so I’m sure that I could find something. Do you think that Neal would be willing to leave New York?”

     “He’s coming home this weekend, so let’s feel him out,” Peter said, and was puzzled when El started giggling.

     Neal was welcomed home by man, woman and dogs alike. Everyone had missed him, and he basked in their affection. He had never felt this loved before in his lifetime, and he did not ever want to take anything for granted again. This was his family now—he had a pack just as Roger did—and he felt overwhelmed sometimes at his good fortune at being encircled in its sustaining embrace.

     After a fantastic “we missed you” dinner, the three lovers made up for lost time in the bedroom. Their lovemaking was lusty and uninhibited, and continued through the night. They simply could not get enough of each other and were not hesitant to show it.

     Finally, exhausted and satiated, there was time for pillow talk. When Peter told Neal of the possibility of re-locating and asked his opinion, Neal was touched that Peter valued his input. He chose his earnest and truthful words carefully, as he lay on Peter’s chest and lazily trailed his fingers down the older man’s torso.

      “Peter, I want you to be happy—to do whatever it takes to make that happen. If that means traveling to the ends of the earth, if you and El still want me, I’ll be dogging your footsteps the whole way.”

     Neal then raised himself up on his forearms and took each of his lover’s hands into his as he gazed into their eyes. “I am deeply in love with both of you, and that will never change. When I’m with you, I feel completed, as if a part of me had been missing, but now I’ve found the pieces that make me whole.”

     “Well, this will impact you as well, Neal. You have a career, too,” El reminded him.

     Neal smiled at the ever-practical El. “Unless I’m mistaken, Elizabeth, Washington DC has two pretty big airports, so I can get to wherever I need to be.”

     “So, what ‘irons in the fire’ do you have now, Neal,” a very emotionally moved Peter teased as he pulled Neal back into his arms.

     “Well, my agent says there’s the possibility of a gangster type action movie, a remake of an old western, and maybe a biopic of a bygone screen idol,” Neal reeled off. “They are all in pre-production for the next few months, so I have decided to do something just a bit different in the interim.”

     Peter was immediately wary, “How do you mean ‘different,’ Neal? C’mon, lay this on me.”

     “Well, I am going to be playing opposite Lady Gaga,” Neal offered.

     “And …..” Peter was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

     “Well, I’m sorta suffering from a disease of the blood, I guess you could say,” Neal equivocated.

     “Don’t tell me that you have AIDS again, Neal, or leukemia, or some disease process that is just as deadly. I don’t know if I could see you through another role preparation like that,” Peter pleaded.

     “It’s not anything along those lines this time, Peter,” Neal reassured him hesitantly. Then he took a deep breath and said, “Well, I’m just going to put it out there. I’m a vampire!”

     “Huh!” Peter reverted to being almost speechless, but El was fascinated.

     “Wow, Sweetie! Vampires and zombies and the whole Apocalypse thing are so in right now,” she enthused.

     Peter had finally connected to reality once again. He looked at his lover, furrowed his forehead and asked suspiciously, “Just tell me one thing, Neal. If you’re a vampire, then you can’t die in this one, right? I keep seeing a pattern and it’s disturbing.”

     Neal gave Peter a lopsided smile, “Sorry, Peter, it appears that Donovan’s days on this earth are numbered.”

     Peter gave a heartfelt groan. “Neal, please, can you just stop dying!”

 


End file.
